


Worth a Thousand Words

by ThirdGenerationRockette



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: 2.05, AU, Angst, F/M, Romance, s2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 14:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13683975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirdGenerationRockette/pseuds/ThirdGenerationRockette
Summary: She looks away because she suddenly feels defeated, tired. Tired of always trying, tired of feeling on the edge of a breakthrough with him, only to have it pulled out from under her every time.





	1. Chapter 1

Somehow he finishes the show, she doesn't know how, she just sees him summon what he needs to get through it. She remembers the first time he met her parents, and how he sat down later that night and told her about his father, about a childhood lived largely in fear, and about how he just did whatever he had to do to protect his mother and siblings. He had been quiet, stoic, had let her put her arms around him but had said nothing more, his eyes dry as she cried for him.

Now she wonders how he is supposed to mourn the man who should have been his protector, his role model, but instead was the source of nothing but cruelty and abuse. She thinks of her own father, who would do anything for her, for all of his children, and it hurts all over again to know that Will never knew security like that. He's still sitting at the anchor desk, his gaze distant, his pen in his hand, earpiece still in, and she realises she needs to get in there.

"How are you doing?" She crouches down beside the desk waiting for him to look at her.

"Huh?" It's a long few seconds before he answers her, finally turning his head in her direction and pulling out his earpiece.

"Are you alright?" she asks, keeping her voice quiet, level. "I think maybe you're in shock, you've just-"

"I'm fine," he says through gritted teeth, and she knows he's far from fine. "Will..." She takes a breath, and tries again. "I really think you should-"

"Is Sloan okay?" he asks, throwing her totally off balance with both his change of subject and the abrupt tone.

"What? She's...yeah, I don't know," she says. "She'll be fine, but-"

"So, should we be expecting _your_ naked photos to be showing up anywhere next?" He almost spits the question at her and the cold detachment of his tone feels like a slap. She knows his father just died, she knows he's in shock, but she's been nothing but supportive all evening and it feels like he just threw it back in her face.

"You know you're the only person I've _ever_ let take photos even close to that of me, so unless you're planning on sharing those, we're fine." She looks away because she suddenly feels defeated, tired. Tired of always trying, tired of feeling on the edge of a breakthrough with him, only to have it pulled out from under her every time.

"Mac..." His tone softens slightly but he won't look at her, and she is hit with the need to just walk away, to go home. He has a girlfriend now, let _her_ be his support, maybe he'll accept it from her.

"Forget it, it's fine." Abruptly, she stands up. "You should call your sister, go home, try and get some sleep."

It takes all she has not to follow it with an offer to call her over the weekend if he needs to, but she manages it and walks out without looking back. In the back of the taxi, she takes out her phone and calls Charlie, silently hoping it goes to voicemail, unsurprised when it doesn't.

"What the fuck happened tonight?" He answers and doesn't give her chance to say anything. "I thought the feed had frozen until I realised no, our fucking anchor had!"

"I know, I'm sorry," she says, running a hand slowly across her forehead, the beginnings of a headache starting to brew. "His father died, Charlie."

"What?" he asks, his voice laced with confusion. "When?" 

"Tonight," she answers. "Halfway through the broadcast, actually." 

"Jesus." He lets out a sigh and she closes her eyes briefly.

"Yeah." Pausing, she takes a breath and carries on. "I called to tell you about Will's dad because you know him, I don't know if he'll say a damn thing about it and you should know. But I also wanted to let you know that I need to take a few days. I'll let Jim know and I'm sure he'll be fine to cover, I was thinking just until Thursday, I'll be back to work on Thursday-"

"Mac." He stops her, clearly sensing her imminent spiral into babbling. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes." She answers quickly, rethinks and sighs. "Actually, I don't know. I just...sometimes I get tired of trying so hard with him and getting nowhere, tonight was...I think I just need a few days away."

"If that's what you need, then sure," he says. "You don't think he might want you around over the next few days? Not that I'm pushing, and fuck, it sure as hell isn't your responsibility, but-"

"I'm pretty sure I'm the last person he wants around, Charlie." She realises how exhausted she is as she says it, always being there for Will even when he makes it clear he doesn't need her and certainly doesn't want her. No, he has Nina now, he needs to lean on her. It's time to step away.

"I don't think that's the case, Mac." He pauses and she thinks she can actually hear him rethinking whatever he was about to say. "But if you need some time, take some time."

"Thank you." Relief courses through her and she leans back in her seat. "You'll...keep an eye on him, right?"

"You got it," he says, forcing a cheerful tone. "Get some sleep, kiddo, I'll see you Thursday."

Despite Charlie's instructions, she knows sleep won't come easily tonight, but she goes through the motions anyway. Takes a long, hot shower, puts her pyjamas on, makes herself a camomile tea and tries desperately not to think. Texting Jim, he lets her know he's happy to cover for her and she's grateful when he asks no questions beyond a simple _'Everything okay?'_ to which she of course lies, saying something just came up, that's all. She finishes her tea and reaches for her phone, firing a quick message to her sister to ask if she's around this weekend and how she'd feel about hanging out.

Twelve hours later she's in Boston, being hugged half to death by Harriet, dragged to brunch, and despite everything, feeling instantly brighter.

"First things first, we're going to eat, you look like you could use a good meal, Trip," Harriet says, not pausing for breath before she continues. "And, like, even though I know some fucking disaster or other must have prompted this, it's still really good to see you."

"I'm sorry we don't get to catch up more often." They sit down and she smiles at Harriet across the table.

"I was messing with you, I know you're busy," Harriet says, grinning. "It _is_ good to see you though."

"You too," she says. "And I'm okay until Wednesday?"

"You can stay as long as you want, you know that." Pausing, Harriet reaches for the menu, half reading it before looking back at her. "Something has happened though, right?"

"Yes and no." She sighs and glances at her menu, setting it down and resting her chin on her hands. "There's been no big disaster, just...Will's dad died last night, mid-broadcast and we somehow got through the rest of the show. But then afterwards, he said something really shitty, something he had to have known was...anyway, I'd been so fucking supportive, and it was just the last straw, I think. If he'd have slapped me I don't think it'd have hurt more."

"Fucking asshole," Harriet mutters with a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry his dad died but he can't use everything that happens in his life as an excuse to shit on you, Trip...and you have got to stop letting him do it."

"I don't _let_ him do it, Harry," she says firmly. "You know I can give as good as I get, that's not what this was about."

"So what the hell was it about then?" she asks, stopping and smiling at the waiter as he arrives at their table, waiting for her to reply after he walks away.

"It wasn't really even what he said, it was just that he said it, like he doesn't know me at all." She stops, recalling the coldness in his voice and wonders if he really thought for a minute that there may be a myriad of naked pictures of her out in the world.

"Alright, I get that you're telling me what he said isn't what bugged you." Harriet pauses briefly. "But you're going to have to tell me anyway because now you've gotten me curious."

"Fine," she says with a sigh of resignation. "So, some complete arse Sloan was dating leaked some...sensitive photos of her, which ended up all over the internet, and-"

"I heard," Harriet cuts in. "Seriously, what the fuck is up with a guy that does that?"

"I really don't know," she agrees, her eyes lighting up when a huge coffee appears in front of her. "Anyway, Will asked-"

"Wait, he didn't say something about the photos?" Harriet's eyes are wide as she leans forward. "I mean, you know I frequently think Will deserves a fucking punch for various reasons, but even I can admit that he isn't that kind of asshole."

"What kind?" she asks, and then realises what Harriet may be thinking. "Wait, no! He would never...holy shit, Harry, he's not a sexist pig, and Sloan is, well, she's _Sloan_ , she's like a little sister to him."

"Alright, then I'm lost." Harriet picks up her coffee and leans back.

"He didn't say anything about Sloan's photos." She sighs. "I was asking if he was okay, trying to gently nudge him to talk, or to at least go home and get some rest and he just up and out of nowhere told me he hoped _my_ photos aren't about to see the light of day next."

"Motherfucker!" Harriet hisses, aware that it's brunch so trying to keep her voice down, but clearly furious.

"I know," she says. "It was his tone, it was just so...cold, I suppose."

"And so what if you've taken naked photos with a hundred men," Harriet says, slamming her mug down on the table. "It's none of his damn business. What did you say?"

"I said he's the only one I've ever done that with so unless he's planning on sharing them with the world then no, mine won't be next." She sighs, remembering the look on his face, the distance, the cold disregard, so different from the time they took the photos and he looked at her like she was all he could ever want in the world.

"Damn straight," Harriet says, almost instinctively, before processing what she just heard. "Hold the fucking phone, what? Back up."

"You heard me, Harry," she says quietly, shrugging slightly.

"What the fuck, Trip?" Harriet's eyebrows raise almost higher than seems possible. "You're telling me that some guy _does_ have a bunch of naked photos of you that could totally show up someday?"

"It wasn't some guy, it was Will," she says quickly. "And what happened to 'so what if I've taken naked photos with a hundred men?'"

"You're right, I'm sorry, yeah, I just...shit." Harriet sits back in her chair and stares at her.

"What? You just what?" She isn't sure why she's angry suddenly but she is, at Will, at herself, and now at her sister. "You didn't expect that of boring old Mackenzie, your dull older sister? Is that it? Because frankly, that's about as insulting as what Will said."

"You know that isn't what I meant, not at all." Harriet smirks across the table. "It's boring old Will that I'm more surprised at."

"You shouldn't be, he was all for it," she says, lowering her voice. "Besides, we were in Mexico, and we may have been just a tiny bit wasted."

"Holy fuck, is he in them too?!" Harriet snorts loudly and covers her mouth for a second. "Are they...mother of God, are they sex pictures?"

"God, this really isn't how you're making it sound." She pauses, shaking her head. "It isn't like we spent two years constantly taking naked pictures, for crying out loud. We went away for a week, it was hot, we were relaxed, there are way more photos of us clothed than not. Drop it, Harry, please."

"Fine, I get it." Their food arrives and Harriet falls silent, reaching over and snatching a strawberry from Mackenzie's plate.

"The point was, like I said," she says, her voice firm. "Not _what_ he said, just that he said it at all, and that he sounded like...I don't know, like he just realised how much he still hates me."

"Oh hon." Reaching across the table, Harriet squeezes her hand and smiles. "Don't forget which of you is the on-air talent, the famous one, if you like. Imagine if the mighty Will McAvoy had his dick pics leaked."

"Harry!" She laughs, knowing her sister is trying to cheer her up and appreciating the effort. "I would never, _could_ never do that!"

"I know, I know," Harriet says, smiling. "If you did, I'd ask who the imposter was and what the fuck had they done with my outrageously ethical sister."

"As you should." She smiles back. "I don't have them anyway. He does, and he's hardly going to leak nudes of himself, is he?"

"Wait, he has the only copies?" Harriet's eyes go wide again and the fork she's holding stops halfway to her mouth. "And you didn't ask for them back?! Holy shit."

"Excuse me for not thinking, when he was throwing me out, to ask for my fucking naked photos," she says, raising an eyebrow. "He probably doesn't even have them anymore."

"Oh, please! Like he would destroy naked pictures of _you_ ," Harriet says, smirking. "I bet they still come in pretty fucking useful."

"To stick pins in, maybe. On the days he really hates me." Shaking her head, she turns back to her food.

"You can't still think that," Harriet says. "That he hates you?"

"I think he sometimes forgets that he does." She shrugs. "And when he remembers is when things like last night happen, like he has to remind both of us that his hatred is still as strong as ever."

"I know you love your job..." Harriet frowns. "But I think you have to think about whether you love it enough to put up with this shit."

It's cold, rainy and windy when they finish eating so they head to Harriet's place, Mackenzie realising she maybe didn't need an entire suitcase for a few days as she drags it up the stairs to her sister's apartment.

They have just stepped inside the door when her phone rings and she grabs it from her handbag, ignoring Harriet's raised eyebrows. It's Will, as she had a feeling it might be, had half hoped it would be. Knowing him as she does, she knows he will have thought about what he said, or perhaps the way he said it, and he's calling to fumble his way through an apology. No, Billy, not today. Giving Harriet a pointed look, she hits the ignore button and drops the phone back into her bag.

The next time the phone rings, Harriet is opening their second bottle of wine and this time she does more than raise her eyebrows.

"For fuck's sake, just answer it!" She turns from where she's standing in the kitchen, the bottle in one hand, her other hand on her hip.

"I don't..." She pauses as Harriet strolls back into the room, looking accusingly at her. "I'm not answering it."

"He'll just keep calling, won't he?" Harriet sits down next to her and gestures for her glass, topping up the wine. "If you don't pick up, he'll be all 'poor fucking me, why won't she pick up when I need her?'"

"I know exactly what he'll do." She sighs and takes a sip of her wine. "He's going to try again, and when he gets no reply he'll call one more time and he'll leave a message. Then, when he doesn't hear from me, he'll send a text, and-"

"Jesus, Trip," Harriet says, rolling her eyes. "If you want to call him, just call him."

"At nine on a Saturday night?" She raises her eyebrows. "I'm sure his girlfriend would be delighted with that."

"I'm sure she's fucking delighted he keeps trying to call you." Harriet pauses and puts her glass down on the table. "If my boyfriend was sitting here calling his ex, I'm pretty damn sure I'd be out the door before the call even connected."

"How _is_ that going, by the way?" She smiles, reaching for the chocolate sitting on the table, handing a piece to Harriet before popping her own into her mouth.

"Don't change the subject," Harriet says, sternly, stopping to eat her chocolate. "Yes, let's please change the subject," she says, firmly. "How's it going?"

"It's going fine." Harriet shrugs. "It's good, he's cool, I like him but hey, it's only been a couple of months, so I guess we'll see."

"You won't be making Mum's day anytime soon then, with a wedding and a house full of babies?" She smirks and Harriet reaches over and prods her as she picks up her glass again.

"I'm not sure I'm ever going to be making Mom's day with that," she says. "You know me, I've never really wanted any of that stuff, and I don't see that changing. We have two younger sisters to push Mom's expectations onto, right?"

"I suppose." She smiles but she feels sadness wash over her as it so often does as she thinks about what she threw away, the potential to be a mother, thrown into doubt by her own actions and a six inch knife blade.

"You do want those things, don't you?" Harriet asks, squeezing her knee briefly. 

"Yeah." She nods. "I do, I _did_..."

"Hey, it's not a forgone conclusion, hon," Harriet's voice is kind, a worried look on her face. "You're not, like, fifty five yet, for fuck's sake. You have time...and you know, doctors are wrong sometimes."

"I know," she says, sadly, thinking that even if by some miracle she got herself together and moved on from Will, she can't imagine wanting a family with anyone but him.

"I have a question," Harriet says suddenly. "If there was a switch in your head that meant you could totally stop loving someone, save yourself buckets of fucking pain, would you flip it?"

"What?" Confused, she frowns at her sister. "I don't-"

"Would you flip it?" Harriet pushes her, looking at her and refusing to look away. "It's a pretty straightforward question."

"No," she says, shaking her head. "I wouldn't, no. If I'm meant to be in love with Will, then it is what it is. No, even if I could turn it off, I wouldn't."

"Then fight for him, Trip." Harriet slams her glass down on the table and grabs her hand. "At this point you have nothing, absolutely _nothing_ to lose. Tell him you love him, tell him you've never stopped, make him ask himself if he could ever love you again."

"I can't," she says quickly, shaking her head firmly. "He's with someone else, he's moving on, he's-"

"Bullshit, Mackenzie!" Harriet's hand squeezes hers even tighter. "A man who's moved on doesn't call his ex on a fucking Saturday because he feels bad for being an asshole the night before. You have got to just ask him how he feels, and I know he's a big old Midwestern lug, and God forbid he might talk about his feelings, but pin him down and ask him if he loves you. If answer is no, the fucking switch has been flipped for you...but it might just be yes."

"Is this wine advice, Harry?" she asks, trying to take it all in. She had been prepared for a lecture on how she needed to let go, that it's blatantly clear that Will has no interest in her, so she has no response ready to Harriet's advice to fight for him.

"It's fucking awesome advice," Harriet grins. "I could have sat here and listed all the things that he's done that make me want to smack the shit out of him, but there's no point. You love him, I'd put money down that he loves you, and I'm tired of seeing you so damn _sad_."

"I can't just walk in there and say it," she says, sighing. "Thing is Will, I still love you and I know you have a girlfriend and you're awful to me quite a lot of the time but I was just wondering if there's any chance you might love me too?"

"I probably wouldn't phrase it that way," Harriet says.

"Should I call him?" She gulps down a mouthful of wine as she realises calling him isn't a great idea. He's probably with Nina, he might not even answer, and she'll feel like an idiot. "No, I shouldn't. Ignore that."

"I did." Reaching for the chocolate, Harriet hands her a huge chunk and grins. "We're going to eat the rest of this, we're going to finish this wine. We'll find some terrible shitty TV to watch, and then you're going to get some proper sleep since you look like you slept about twenty minutes last night. Dammit, I am so full of great advice tonight, seriously."

"Wisdom in the bottom of a bottle." She snorts at Harriet's wounded expression, leaning over to tug on her ponytail the way she used to when they were little.

"It'll all be fine, it'll work out how it's meant to, you know." Harriet's voice is quiet, determined, and as Mackenzie puts the last of the chocolate in her mouth she almost believes her.

*

_'Hey, it's me...Will, it's Will. I don't know why, I guess...listen, I hope you're okay. I wanted to say...you know what, it's nothing, I'll see you tomorrow.'_

"Actually, you won't," she mutters as she puts her phone down on the table, jumping slightly as Harriet walks in.

"Talking to yourself?" Harriet raises an eyebrow.

"Talking to the phone," she says with a sigh, picking it up again, hesitating, setting it back down.

"I find it helps if you put it to your ear," Harriet says, standing at the end of the couch looking at her suspiciously.

"I'll try that next time." She gives Harriet a look as she sits down beside her.

"I'm guessing that was Will?" Harriet looks at her and nods in the direction of the phone.

"He left a message." She shrugs and reaches for the tea in front of her that probably isn't even lukewarm at this point.

"Did he apologise?" Harriet asks, sharply.

"No, he didn't really say anything," she says, unsure if she's annoyed that he didn't even try or if a voicemail apology would have been _more_ annoying. "Just rambled a little, said he hoped I was okay and he'd see me tomorrow."

"Which he absolutely fucking will not!" Harriet says, triumphantly. "He won't see you until Thursday, by which time he will have had almost a week to ruminate on how shitty he was and he'll be on his knees begging for forgiveness."

"Yeah, that's not going to happen." She shakes her head and bites her lip as she looks at Harriet. "Nah, you're right." Harriet nods. "His old knees would never cope."

"Maybe I should call him back," she says, cautiously. "You know, at least find out if the funeral has been arranged and if he's planning on going-"

"No, you shouldn't." Harriet stops her with a look. "What you should do...well, what _I'd_ do if it were me, is send him a text saying sorry you missed his call, you're fine, just busy this weekend, but you hope he's doing okay."

"That's it?" She frowns, again torn between thinking Harriet is probably right and just wanting to pick up he phone and call him back.

"That's it." Harriet nods, holding out her hand. "Give me the phone."

"No!" She laughs at her sister's determined expression before giving an exaggerated sigh and picking up the phone. "Fine, I'll text him."

"Okay, good." Harriet watches as she composes the message, she can feel her eyes on her. "Then you're going to put that phone down and we're going to go out, and if I catch your fingers even hovering over those fucking keys I'll beat you over the head with it."

"Alright, alright!" She holds the phone up for Harriet to read the message. "There, done. Happy now?"

_'Hey, I'm fine, just busy this weekend. I hope you're doing okay...you know, with everything, x'_

"Perfect." Harriet says, before frowning. "Wait, delete the fucking kiss, right now."

"It doesn't mean anything, it's just habit, I always do it," she says. "You know that."

"I know you do." Harriet rolls her eyes again. "And I'm sure he knows that too. Take it off and he's going to know he isn't forgiven, not yet anyway."

"God Harry, I really can't be bothered playing games." She sighs as her fingers drift towards the keys on her phone. "I don't see what the point of this-"

"Delete the damn kiss, Trip." Harriet reaches for the phone again but doesn't quite manage to grab it.

"Alright, fine." She makes a show of removing the kiss from the end of the message and holds the phone up again. "Better?"

"Yep." Leaning in, Harriet hits send and watches the message disappear. "There, done. Let him sweat for a while, it won't kill him...now come on, let's get out of here. I can't have my sister visiting and not go shopping."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He knows he hurt her, he saw it, the flicker of pain in her eyes right before she walked out, and he wishes he could take it back. She was trying to help, trying to make sure he was okay, telling him he needed to go home, to talk to his sister, and just as he always does when she's kind to him, when he's close to letting her back in, he shut down and reverted to nastiness, cruelty._

He knows he hurt her, he saw it, the flicker of pain in her eyes right before she walked out, and he wishes he could take it back. She was trying to help, trying to make sure he was okay, telling him he needed to go home, to talk to his sister, and just as he always does when she's kind to him, when he's close to letting her back in, he shut down and reverted to nastiness, cruelty. It's easier that way, and although he knows it's unhealthy and that he's hurting her unnecessarily, a barbed comment still comes more easily than a 'thank you, Mackenzie.'

Speaking to Nina after the show, he tells her he has a headache, isn't feeling great so he is going to go home and get some sleep, cutting her off instantly when she suggests coming over anyway. He doesn't even feel the need to mention his father to her, which tells him all he needs to know; he needs to end it with her, it's becoming more and more clear every day. She's not even slightly right for him, he's with her for all the wrong reasons...and fuck, he has no idea what she's doing with him. She had told him she'd listened to the voicemail over and over, she knows what she heard, that he still loves Mackenzie, and hell, he could understand a curiosity fuck but he really can't understand why she's still around six months later.

He calls Mackenzie twice on Saturday, she doesn't answer. Nina calls him and he does the same thing. On Sunday he calls Nina and asks her to come over if she's free, gathering up the things that had incrementally started to appear around his apartment, putting them into a bag, setting it down on the floor beside the kitchen door. Nina is a lot of things but she isn't an idiot, so when she walks in and spots the bag, a shirt that she instantly recognises as her own folded neatly on the top, he can tell that she knows he didn't call her over to take her out to brunch. He starts on the speech he had prepared in his head, something along the lines of 'look, I don't know what this was, but I think we both know it isn't going anywhere, I think it's totally run its course...' but she stops him, picking up the bag and shaking her head slowly.

"Let's just quit fucking around here, Will. We both know why this would never have worked." Turning for the door, she glances back at him briefly. "You just need to admit it to yourself. I'll see you around."

Dialling Mackenzie's number, he wonders why it is he treats the woman he loves as badly as the one he blatantly never loved, and never could have. The ringing stops and his heart skitters slightly as he hears her voicemail greeting, her voice having the same effect on him as it always has, in spite of everything.

He doesn't really know what he was planning to say, other than that he's sorry for Friday night, sorry his default defence mechanism kicked in and that she once again bore the brunt of it. He won't keep bombarding her when it's clear she doesn't want to talk to him, so this time he decides he will leave a message and then he won't call again today. Not wanting to apologise to her in a voicemail (surely only an asshole would do it that way?), he leaves a garbled message saying essentially nothing, and hangs up. He can wait until tomorrow, when he can look into her eyes and say sorry properly.

It's a long Sunday. He talks to his sister, who doesn't ask if he will be at the funeral, just assumes he will be, her tone turning cold when he says he really doesn't think he's going to be there. His sisters and their capacity for forgiveness, or perhaps hardened acceptance, is a source of constant confusion to him. They're younger than him and he knows they were shielded from much of the evil of their childhood, knows it because he made damn sure of it, but still, as adults they know how it was and while he can understand their need to pretend things are fine now, he can't do it. He won't do it.

*

"Could you come up here for a few minutes when you get in?" Charlie asks, his call coming just as Will is leaving home to head to the office.

Standing looking out of the window, Charlie turns when he hears Will come in, a faint frown on his face. He sits down and nods at Will to do the same, which he does, placing his coffee cup down in the desk in front of him.

"Everything okay?" He raises an eyebrow, wondering why Charlie called him up here.

"I'm sorry," Charlie says, looking across the desk at him. "About your father. Are you doing okay?"

"Thanks, yeah." He nods, not asking how Charlie knew, because he knows it was Mackenzie. He kicks himself again as he thinks about how, even after the way they left things on Friday night, she called Charlie because...because she cares. "I'm fine."

"Alright..." Charlie narrows his eyes slightly but then seems to accept that that's all he's going to get, so he appears to change tack. "What the fuck did you do to Mackenzie on Friday night?"

"I know, I know." He holds his hands up, letting Charlie know he's well aware that he fucked up. "I said something, I know I upset her, she's been avoiding my calls all weekend but I'm going to apologise as soon as she gets in this morning, I-"

"No." Charlie stops him. "No you're not, because she isn't coming in this morning."

"She's not...what?" He feels something like panic take hold of him, thinks about Friday night, looks at Charlie's face and tries to understand what he's telling him. "Is she...?"

"Calm down," Charlie says, shaking his head. "I'm not trying to tell you she's disappeared to a fucking war zone or anything, but she called me on Friday night to say she needed some time, a few days. She'll be back Thursday, you have Jim until then, so don't fucking take this out on him."

"A few days?" He stands up, running a hand through his hair, suddenly even more angry with himself for not just upsetting her, but upsetting her to the point where she can't even bear to face him. "Do you know where she is?"

"Not a clue." Charlie's tone is final. If he does know where she is, he certainly isn't about to share, and Will wonders at what point Charlie's loyalties shifted to Mackenzie...probably the same time he began treating her like she should be atoning for her mistake for the rest of time.

"Fine." Grabbing his coffee, he stalks towards the door. "I'll see you later."

He starts the rundown meeting by telling the team that Jim is going to be covering for a few nights while Mackenzie isn't here, and that she'll be back on Thursday. He hopes his gruff tone is enough to dissuade them from asking questions, and although he's proved right, he's fairly certain the questions will simply go to Jim instead. He doesn't think Jim knows why she isn't here, and when he asks as casually as he can manage, he gets nothing in response beyond a shrug and "she just said something came up."

The show is fine, he's tetchy like he always is with someone other than Mackenzie in his ear but he bites it back and manages not to make Jim's hour too difficult. On the way home, he texts her, hits send before he can overthink his earlier decision to leave her alone, figuring he made that decision before he knew she wouldn't be back until Thursday.

_'Hey, Charlie said you're taking a couple of days. I hope everything's okay and...I'm sorry. I promise I'm not busting Jim's ass too badly. I'll see you Thursday, x'_

Her message comes back almost instantly and he smiles, relieved mostly, and comforted by the reappearance of the little 'x', glaringly absent from her message the day before.

_'Glad to hear it, Jim's a good one, you shouldn't be trying to scare him off! I'm okay and...thanks. Yeah, see you in a couple of days, x'_

When he grows grumpier by the hour throughout Tuesday, and the staff starts to avoid him on Wednesday, he suddenly realises this is how he was for three years, for the three years he didn't have her in his ear he was an asshole, an angry, unlikable asshole. It scares him how intrinsically his moods are linked to her presence, and he hates to admit how much he needs her around to set him on a reasonably even keel. He feels himself start to relax on Wednesday night when he gets home, knowing she'll be back in the morning, and even though he knows his day absolutely needs to begin with him apologising properly to her, he's looking forward to just _seeing_ her.

Dragging out the laptop from where it sits in his wardrobe, tucked in a corner, he turns it on and opens the folder marked 'Mackenzie', wondering again if figuring out how to encrypt his folders may have been an easier option than just buying a new laptop and hiding it...anyway, he clicks on the 'Mexico' sub folder and takes a deep breath.

He would be lying if he said he hadn't looked at the photos since they were taken, but he hasn't looked at them recently, not since the night he got high and left her the fucking voicemail message. He remembers coming home and opening the folder without really even thinking about what he was doing, just overtaken by a blazing need to look at the photos of them together, to look at her eyes back then, without the constant shadow of uncertainty that lies behind them now.

Tonight he goes right to the same photo he went to first that night too, the one that's always been his favourite. She's on the bed, crumpled white sheets beneath her, wearing only a pair of tiny black shorts, and her hair, longer then than now, tumbles down over one shoulder. He remembers it was the first photo he took, her arms are crossed shyly across her chest, her eyes on the camera as she gives him a half smile. He had taken the photo and she had giggled when he had put the camera down and leaned in to kiss the freckle on her shoulder, the one he always thought looked like a smudge of chocolate. God, she was beautiful, still _is_ beautiful, and he finds himself drifting briefly to the taste of her as his mouth roamed across her skin. The salt and the sunscreen barely managing to mask the unmistakable scent of her that he always loved to drink in, his feelings heightened that night by the burn of the alcohol, the buzz of the high. Shaking himself firmly out of his reverie, he clicks onto the next photo, and the next, each one dragging him deeper and more securely into the realisation that he wants her back, that none of the other stuff matters anymore, nothing other than he loves her, he hates being without her, and he always will.

*  
He bypasses his own office and heads straight for hers, knowing she's always in by this time and needing to talk to her before he allows himself to be distracted by anything or anyone. She's wearing her glasses and gazing at her screen, her chin resting on her hand, a tiny frown of concentration on her face. It takes only a second before she looks up and spots him in the doorway and he's thrown slightly by the smile she gives him, not sure what he was expecting...not anger, but some level of distance, maybe. Recovering, he smiles back and steps inside, closing the door.

"You're back," he says, moving closer to her desk.

"It's Thursday," she replies quietly, reaching for the coffee on her desk and taking a sip, looking over the mug at him.

"Yeah." He nods and pulls the flash drive from his pocket, clutching it between his finger and thumb and taking a breath. "I'm sorry...for what I said, I don't know what...you know how I am, Mac, sometimes shit just falls from my mouth and I'm powerless to stop it."

"Yeah, well...you could try a bit harder," she says, a small smirk pulling at her lips as she tilts her head and looks at him.

"I know." He sighs, knowing she's right, that if he could take a second and just think before reacting then maybe this wouldn't keep happening. "I'm sorry, I really didn't mean-"

"What were you thinking, Will?" She cuts him off, surprising him into silence as her smirk disappears, replaced by another frown. "Were you seriously suggesting there might be photos of me all over the hard drives of New York, or wherever, dressed in, I don't know, next to nothing? Is that really what you think, because-"

"No." He stops her, his tone firm as he takes one final step closer and stands right in front of her desk. "I wasn't thinking anything, I know that's not you, Mac, and you know even if there are photos out there, apart from ours I mean, it's so _not_ my place to judge. I was just...I don't know what the fuck I was doing, I really don't, I-"

"Shit just falls from your mouth," she says. "Yeah, I get it...look, forget it, it's fine."

"It's not." He shakes his head, watching as she glances away, picks up her mug again. "It's not fine, you were...you were trying to help, you _were_ helping, and what I should've been saying was thank you. Seems I'm shit at that."

"You're really not great at it." She lets out a sigh and looks back at him. "Are you okay? Do you need me to-"

"I'm okay," he says automatically, thinking he really should have been prepared for this, for her to worry about how he's been since Friday, if he's coping. "I've talked to my sister, done what I can, she has it under control."

"Are you planning to go?" She bites her lip and for a second his mind flashes back to the photos he was looking at the night before, the photos he has in his hand, but then she speaks again and the image slips from his grasp. "To Nebraska, to the...funeral. I could maybe, I mean if you wanted me to, needed me to-"

"I'm not going." He answers, quickly but softly, knowing she was completely serious. She never met his father, or his brother, only his sisters, yet she's willing to go with him if he needs her to. "Thank you, but I'm not going."

"Alright." She smiles at him and he feels himself once again almost bowled over by the weight of what he feels for her, and by his inability to just say it out loud. "If you change your mind, you know where I am."

"I've never shared these, Mackenzie," he says as he puts the flash drive down on her desk. "And I never would. I really hope you know that."

She looks down at her desk and back up at him, her eyes wide, her bottom lip again caught in her teeth as she picks the flash drive up and turns it over in her hand. He says nothing, smiles at her and turns back towards the door. She knows what he's just given her, although he won't assume she remembers the details of the photos like he does, but he's done the right thing and some of the weight feels lifted; it's enough for now.

He's on his second coffee and his third attempt at trying to decipher some IT instruction or other in an email from Neal when she marches into his office, slams his door and stands in front of his desk, her hands on her hips as she glares at him. He stays quiet, he knows her well enough to know that when she has something to say, his attempting to speak will only end badly for him.

"Please tell me these haven't been sitting on your computer all this time," she says, waving the flash drive at him before lowering her voice slightly. "Granted, no one gives a damn about my naked arse, but _you're_ in these pictures, Will, and they've been sitting on your laptop ready for your gossip columnist girlfriend to find and slap all over Page Six or wherever the hell else she likes?"

"She's not my girlfriend," he says, keeping his voice low too, not wanting to fight with her, just when he thought he had managed to fix this. "She's-"

"Or however you refer to her." She flaps a hand dismissively. "Girlfriend, partner, whatever, that's really not the point, what I'm asking is where-"

"No." He stands up and walks around the desk, stopping in front of her. "What I'm saying is she's not my girlfriend, she's not my...anything. I broke up with her, on Sunday. It's over, Mac, it should have been over months ago."

"Oh," she says, nodding quickly and crossing her arms in front of her. "Right, okay, I didn't know. Obviously."

"But no." He continues, determined to save this from spiralling into anything that will undo any small good he hopes he may have done by giving her the photos. "She never saw them, she never would have known they existed."

"How can you be so sure?" she asks, frowning at him and taking an almost imperceptible step back. 

"No offence, but you're not exactly a technological whiz, so what you think may have been hidden may actually have been-"

"I'm sure," he says, stepping forward and running his hands down her arms before he even knows what he's doing, quickly letting go when he feels her stiffen under his touch. "I, um, I have a laptop that isn't my regular one, it's not somewhere that she, or anyone, would really know where to look, and I asked Neal for advice on really good password combinations. It's as secure as it gets, I swear."

"You know you could have just asked him how to go about encrypting files on the computer you already had." Her expression softens and he smiles at her, having had the same revelation himself.

"Yeah." He nods, shrugging slightly. 

"I kind of figured that out too late...wait, how the hell do _you_ know about encryption?"

"A girl has to keep things safe, Billy," she says, a coy smile on her lips making him wonder if she knows damn well what she does to him when she calls him that. "Especially a girl who apparently has naked photos all over the damn place, I have to keep a handle on them somehow, I mean it's almost a full time job, I'm amazed I have time to get anything else done."

"Alright, point taken." He smirks and shakes his head, knowing that if she's teasing him again then they're okay.

"Good...now get some work done." She turns away, throwing a look back at him as she reaches the door, a look he can't quite read as she holds up the flash drive again. "Thanks, for these."

He nods and watches her walk out, wondering again if she even remembers what's on the drive, the photos they took, through the whole week, not just that one night. He put everything on there, the naked ones, the clothed ones, the ones of her that he took simply because the extra freckles on her face from the sun made her look even more beautiful than usual. He had been tempted to delete the ones with him in but had figured turnabout was fair play and she should have the full set to decide for herself what to do with. Maybe she won't even look at them, he really doesn't know, but something deep within him really hopes that she will.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The first photo in the folder is of her alone, but it's completely innocent. She's wearing a blue dress and flat brown sandals, and she remembers feeling unusually short next to him, so used to being in heels at work. She thinks he took this one their first day there, she's pale, no visible signs of the sun having touched her yet, and she's smiling widely at him, she looks completely...happy._

"Yes, Harry, he did apologise," she says, climbing out of the taxi and heading up into her building. "It was the first thing he did, as it happens."

"I should fucking think so," Harriet replies. "And?"

"And what?" She knows what Harriet's asking but it's been a long day and she really just wants to get in, pour herself a drink and, if she's honest, she wants to look at the photos on the flash drive nestled safely inside her purse.

"Don't play dumb, Trip, it really doesn't suit you." Harriet sighs and continues. "The conversation we had mere days ago. Do you remember my sage advice? Tell him you're in love with him, ask him if he loves you too, you do remember that, right? Yeah, yeah, I know what you're going to say, he's moved on, he has a girlfriend-"

"He doesn't, actually." She cuts her sister off, regretting it almost immediately, knowing what Harriet's reaction will be, but in too deep now to take it back. "He broke up with her, last weekend, it's over."

"Well, fuck me!" Harriet says loudly, her tone dripping with victory. "So, wait, I'm going to get this straight in my head...he says something shitty to you, you refuse to take his crap and walk away. He calls, he calls again, he texts, he leaves a message, and somewhere in the middle of all that, he finally realises gossip girl is...well, exactly what she is. This is perfect, so fucking perfect, this means he is literally waiting for you to tell him you still want him."

"Jesus, you barely took a breath just then, do you know that?" She can't help but smile at Harriet's enthusiasm. There really is nobody better than Harriet McHale to have on your side. "And why do I have to be the one to tell _him_? If he dumped her because he still has any feelings at all for me, should he not be telling me that?"

"Of course he should," Harriet says. "But I doubt he's fucking going to, and if _I_ know that then you must too."

"I know." She admits it, she knows Will is unlikely to put himself in a position of total vulnerability by choice. If she wants to know how he feels, she needs to be the one to raise it, she knows that. "I know, I will."

"You know I'll just call you every night until you say you've told him, right?" Harriet refuses to let it go, not a surprise but slightly irritating nevertheless.

"I'm starting to get that idea, yes," she says, sighing faintly down the phone. "He gave me something today you _may_ be interested in hearing about."

"I'm interested already," Harriet says quickly. "What? What did he give you?"

"A flash drive," she says, feeling a little cruel for dragging it out, but not entirely. "With...the photos."

"You're shitting me?" Harriet all but yells down the phone.

"I shit you not." She grins at Harriet's reaction and turns on her laptop before reaching for the flash drive.

"Are you going to look at them?" Harriet's excitement is palpable and it's amusing. A little disconcerting, but amusing.

"Oh, I haven't really given it a thought." She tries to affect an air of nonchalance, at which she suspects she's failing quite dismally. "Maybe, I don't know, I-"

"You're plugging the fucking thing in right now, aren't you?" Harriet laughs and goes on. "Hey, no judgement here, I'd be looking too."

"You know what?" She grins and gives an exaggerated sigh. "I'm really not going to look at them with my sister on the phone. I'll talk to you soon, ok?"

"You'll talk to me tomorrow," Harriet says. "Because I'm calling every fucking night until the answer I get is 'yes, I told him, he loves me too, we're sailing off into the sunset together right now'."

"Fine," she says, shaking her head, her stomach flipping over as she clicks on the folder he's created on the flash drive, simply marked 'Mackenzie'. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

The first photo in the folder is of her alone, but it's completely innocent. She's wearing a blue dress and flat brown sandals, and she remembers feeling unusually short next to him, so used to being in heels at work. She thinks he took this one their first day there, she's pale, no visible signs of the sun having touched her yet, and she's smiling widely at him, she looks completely...happy. There are a couple of them together, one at dinner, another on the beach, and she has vague recollections of them asking people to take the photos for them, or maybe just assumes that's what they must have done. The next one is of him and she absolutely remembers taking this one, his eventual grin at her insistent "Come on, Billy, smile for the woman who loves you!", the faint tan lines on his arms, the t-shirt he'd worn the day before having had slightly longer sleeves. God, he was handsome, still _is_ handsome, and with a tan his eyes look even more blue, his hair lightened in the sun making him look younger, fresher faced.

When she comes to one of her on the bed wearing nothing but shorts, really _short_ shorts, she is hit by such clear memories of that night she can barely breathe. They only ever got high together a few times, because she really doesn't handle it particularly well and can seem to manage nothing more than extended bouts of giggling, which she recalls him finding ridiculously endearing. She remembers them having dinner, going back to their room and someone (she's going to make the assumption it was him) suggesting they get high. The idea that followed, to go for a late night swim, may have been hers. The pool had been a cool relief from the hot, sticky night and she had jumped right in wearing her shorts and tank top, watching him as he gazed at her before tracing the droplets of water down her skin with his tongue. She feels herself blushing now as the memory of what they did in the empty pool engulfs her, and she remembers the salty tang of his skin as she bit down on his shoulder to stop herself from crying out.

Closing the folder, she stands up and takes a deep breath before heading to the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of wine and reaching for her phone. She hits his number quickly, before she can talk herself out of it, Harriet's advice swirling around her brain in conjunction with the memories conjured up by the photos.

"Well, well." His smooth, low voice comes over the line and she smiles at the sound. "If it isn't Mackenzie from Midtown. Long time, no speak, caller...what can I do for you?"

"I didn't wake you, did I?" She knows he never sleeps this early but it's the first question that springs to mind.

"It's barely ten, Midtown," he says, his voice dropping an octave lower as a shudder runs through her. "Couldn't call myself the Nightbird if I was sleeping at this time, could I?"

"No." She smiles, happy to play along for now. "I suppose not. So, if you're not sleeping, what are you doing?"

"Shouldn't that be my line?" he asks, and she can hear the smirk in his tone. "Still could be," she murmurs, waiting for his answer.

"Alright then." He's quick to respond, she'll give him that. "What's on your mind tonight, Mackenzie from Midtown?"

"Mexico, 2006," she answers quickly, before her nerve deserts her.

"Really?" His voice changes slightly, back to that of Will, barely a trace of the Nightbird remaining.

"I'm sorry," she says, feeling a pang of regret for the past week. "I shouldn't have run, I just...I was trying to be there for you and when you pushed me away, I just, I didn't know what to do, so I called Charlie and told him I needed a few days out."

"When he told me..." He pauses, just briefly. "For a second, I thought you'd gone, like properly gone."

"Boston, Will." She smiles, knowing she should have guessed he'd jump to the conclusion that she'd gone for good. "It was five days in Boston, not two years in Afghanistan."

"Thank God," he says, and she hears his long, relieved sigh down the line before he falls silent for a few seconds. "So...Mexico, 2006?"

"Did you ever...look at them?" she asks, the need to know pushing the question out before she was even aware her brain had formed it. "The photos...did you ever look at them?"

"I..." He seems startled, like he thought she would take the flash drive and never mention it again. "Why? Have _you_ looked at them tonight?"

"No fair, Nightbird. I asked first." She bites her lip and says nothing more, waiting for his answer.

"Of course I looked at them," he says, finally. "Why the hell else would I have kept them?"

"God, we were so wasted in some of them," she says. "You and your bright idea to get high when you know I don't handle it even half as well as you do."

"We were in Mexico," he says. "On vacation, relaxing, you know...and you know I'd never have let anything happen to you while you were high, right?"

"Yeah, I know." She smiles as she sits back down and opens the folder up again. "We look so-" 

"Young?" he asks and she laughs softly as she once again starts to scroll through the photos.

"Speak for yourself, I still look young!" She protests but she's smiling. "I was going to say _happy_. We looked so happy."

"Yeah, well." He sounds distant, like he's trying to keep his voice neutral. "We look happy because we _were_ happy."

"I know, I know," she says, sad to have changed the mood somehow. "We were happy before I fucked everything up, you don't need to say it again."

"I wasn't going to say that," he says quickly, firmly. "Mackenzie, I _wasn't_."

"Oh...ok." She falls quiet and then decides to push on. "What were you going to say?"

"I don't know." He pauses for barely a fraction. "No, that's not true, I do know, I was going to say that maybe, I mean, what if...we could be happy again, couldn't we?"

"What?" Her brain is unable to process what he just said, it's everything she though she was going to have to say, and not where she thought this conversation would go at all. "Are you...are you fucking high right _now_?"

"As it happens, no, I'm not high, but thanks for that," he says, clearly amused. "Why would you assume I'm high? Is that so much more likely than what I'm actually saying?"

"I don't have a clue what you're actually saying," she says, taking a huge gulp of wine as she tries to understand what he's attempting to tell her. "You want to know if I think we could be happy, you want to know if-"

"If you love me." He stops her, his words falling out quickly, and before she has chance to reply, he carries on. "God, I'm fucking this up...shit. I love you, Mackenzie, and I've been an asshole, a total asshole, and I wouldn't blame you if you couldn't forgive me, but I love you, I really do."

"You love me?" She can't quite compute what she's hearing. He loves her. "That's what you just said, right? That you... _love_ me?"

"Yeah." He laughs and she knows she must sound like she's just been hit with a hammer but she'd been so certain Harriet was right, that he would never be the one to raise the subject first, let alone come right out and tell her that he loves her.

"Is this some kind of..." She pauses, not entirely sure what she's trying to ask him, just needing to be sure that he's serious, completely serious. "Is this like a teenage boy 'I love you'? You know, like you remembered I looked decent enough naked and decided you loved me?"

"Decent enough?" He sounds incredulous, affronted almost. "Believe me, you look so much more than _decent_ naked, my God."

"I would like to put out the disclaimer that those pictures were taken six years ago, Will, and a woman can change in six years." She looks again at the screen, at her on the beach in a bikini, maybe a little thinner than now but she knows she's held up pretty well. She also knows he's only seen her without her scar. She clears her throat and goes on. "Things can go a little bit south, is all I'm saying."

"I don't care," he says. "I don't give a fuck if things have gone south, north, wherever-"

"Never in the history of time has a woman found her boobs going north." She laughs and realises she's being silly, knowing he wouldn't say what he just did based on nothing more than a primal reaction to seeing her naked.

"You look beautiful in those photos." His voice drops again and she smiles. "And you look beautiful now. If you really want to know though, I look at the pictures and I don't just see you naked. I remember how your skin _tasted_ that night, I remember the sounds you made in the pool, I remember wrapping your damp hair around my finger and watching it curl up. Do you know which is my favourite photo?"

"No." She can manage nothing more, her thoughts are fuzzy, her mind back in Mexico on a hot night six years ago.

"There's one with you on the bed, just in your shorts, just after we came back from the pool." He pauses and she thinks she knows which photo he's talking about, but he continues with his description and she doesn't stop him. "Your hair is all on one shoulder and you're smiling at me, like a little half smile. I remember you keeping your arms across your chest, I think this was the first one we took that night. Do you know which picture I mean?"

"I do." She opens the photo on her screen and she knows right away it's the one she was thinking of when he started talking. "I remember thinking 'God, this is sexy, but what the fuck are we doing?'"

"I remember kissing your freckle...the little chocolate smudge freckle on your left shoulder," he says. "You tasted like salt and sunscreen, and you were the most beautiful sight I'd ever seen, I just-"

"I love you too." She stops him, overwhelmed by his words and wondering how she could have been unsure of his declaration.

"Wait." He stalls, she hears his breath catch before he's able to continue. "What did you say?" 

"I said I love you too, and yes, I really do think we could be happy again." She can't stop the smile spreading across her face and she knows he can hear it. "Honestly? I don't think I'll ever be happy again if it _isn't_ with you. And no, I'm not high either."

"I know you're not," he says. "You're not giggling anywhere near enough."

"Fair point." She does giggle now, a lightness running through her, butterflies suddenly occupying her stomach.

"Fuck, Mackenzie." He sounds disappointed and she wonders what he's thinking now. "I really didn't want to do this on the phone, I was going to do it properly, I was going to work up to it, not just spill it out on the damn phone with you halfway across town."

"So, come over then," she says, suddenly wanting more than anything to see his face, to touch him after so long spent holding back.

"Seriously?" he asks, sounding so nervous it makes her giggle again.

"Seriously!" She grins, amused that he even has to ask. "What the hell did you think I was going to say? 'Yeah, I love you too...cool, see you tomorrow'? Get over here!"

*

By the time he arrives, she's managed to change into jeans, finish her glass of wine and take one more look at the photos. When the buzzer rings she jumps up from the sofa, unexpected nervousness flooding through her, before she remembers he was the one who said it first, he loves her, it's going to be ok.

She opens the door and there he is, looking as nervous as she feels, which reassures her. He leans slightly against the doorframe, and she may be able to see the nerves behind his eyes, but the smile he gives her is completely confident. Smiling back at him, she steps back and opens the door wider.

"It's awfully late for gentlemen callers," she says, coyly. "But would you like to come in?" 

"I guess it is." He steps through the door and she closes it behind him. "But yeah, I would."

They stand for a few awkward seconds, neither of them moving, both just looking at each other. She's still trying to process their phone conversation, what he said, what they both said, and she thinks maybe he's doing the same thing.

"You okay?" He asks, taking off his jacket and hanging it behind the door.

"Yeah." She nods, smiles at him and turns for the kitchen, knowing he will follow. "Drink?"

She's pouring two glasses of wine when she feels him step up behind her, close behind her, and he seems hesitant for just a beat before his hand comes to rest on her shoulder and runs slowly down her arm, taking hold of her hand and squeezing her fingers. She leans back slightly against him and sighs at the solid warmth of his chest, the feel of his fingers tangled with hers.

"I've missed you, Mackenzie." He murmurs the words softly, but she hears the quiet sincerity as she feels his fingers on the back of her neck, pushing her shirt aside and drifting tenderly across her skin.

"Me too." She sighs and instinctively tilts her head to allow him better access to where she realises he's heading.

"Ah, there it is," he says, and she can hear the smile in his voice as his mouth dips to her shoulder, his lips pressing a soft kiss to her skin. "Still looks like chocolate...still tastes like you."

"Will..." He stops at the note in her voice, and with a final sweep of his tongue, he pulls his head back and waits for her to turn around.

"Hey." He smiles and strokes his thumbs across her cheekbones, looking at her like he can't quite believe she's standing in front of him. "I really have missed you."

"You mentioned that." She smiles back at him and her eyes drift slowly shut as he leans in closer, her hands moving to rest at his waist, her fingers curling into his t-shirt.

His lips touch hers, lightly at first, nudging her mouth open, and when his tongue moves gently across her bottom lip, she slides a hand up his back and rakes her nails slowly across his skin. He moves his hands from her face into her hair, his fingertips dancing across her skull as he deepens the kiss and his tongue pushes against hers. He tastes like coffee, she thinks she probably tastes like wine, but underneath all that he tastes like her Will, and it's the flavour she's missed for so long.

When he pulls back and rests his forehead against hers, she sighs and they stand quietly for a few seconds that feel like forever, or at least a promise of forever. She leans up and places another soft kiss on his lips before handing him his glass of wine, picking up her own and taking his hand. She doesn't let go, even when they sit down, her fingers playing absently with his, reacquainting herself with how it feels to touch him, how her hand feels in his.

"You know what else I remember about that vacation?" he asks, a faint smile on his face as he nods at where her laptop is still open on the table in front of them.

"What?" She shifts closer, moving their joined hands to rest on his thigh as she turns slightly and looks up at him.

"Your jellyfish revelation," he says, pausing. "Until that point, I was firmly convinced there wasn't a single fucking thing you were afraid of."

"Not so much a revelation." She grins at him. "More a case of imparting necessary information given our location at the time...and I'm not _afraid_ of them, I just don't like them."

"Really?" He raises a suspicious eyebrow and she laughs. 

"Alright," she says with a shrug. "Terrified. I'm _terrified_ of them."

"I noticed that." He squeezes her hand and agains gestures towards the laptop. "So..."

"So?" She bites her lip at the thought of them looking at the photos together, the first time since not long after they took them.

"I seem to recall I told you which one was my favourite," he says, looking at her, his eyes focused completely on hers.

"Are you asking if I have a favourite too, Billy?" She knows that's what he's asking but she's enjoying being able to tease him without any fear of it unexpectedly turning into a fight. "Because, yes, I do."

"Show me." His voice drops and her stomach flips over as she lets go of his hand and reaches for her laptop.

Opening the folder, she goes right to her favourite, one of the two of them together, one that she knows he's going to appreciate too for reasons that are quite clear even to her. She remembers him setting up the camera on the dresser, peering through it at her as she pulled silly faces at him, making sure she was in the right place before he climbed onto the bed next to her.

In the picture she's looking at the camera, biting her lip slightly as she tilts her head to allow him to kiss her neck. His fingers are laced tightly through hers, and she knows she had peeled off her damp shorts just seconds earlier, finally relaxed about the camera capturing all of her. His arm is covering most of her breasts but not quite all and there's a glimpse of her nipple, hard and pink...there's just something about the photo that she is drawn to. His fingers so perfectly entwined with hers, his lips on her neck, and the expression on her face, despite her earlier awkwardness, is one of perfect bliss.

"This one," she says, turning to him, watching his face as he gazes at the photo on the screen. "I like this one."

"God, yeah." He lets out a breath and she moves her hand to his thigh, squeezing as he continues to stare at the picture. "Tell me why you like it."

"I like..." She starts but pauses because she isn't sure how to put into words why this particular photo is the one she keeps going back to. "I...I like how tightly you're holding my hand, and I remember your lips on me, and I was just so...happy, so totally happy."

She shakes her head, feeling suddenly silly at the rush of melancholy overwhelming her as once again the realisation sets in that they only ever lost that happiness because of what she did.

"Mackenzie..." He seems to sense her sadness and as his hand covers hers she turns and smiles at him.

"Sorry," she says quickly, repeating it more firmly. "I'm sorry, I just...well, we were so happy, Will, and I fucked it all up."

"Do you want to know what I realised the other day?" he asks, tightening his grip on her hand and continuing when she doesn't say anything. "We both fucked it up, Mac, both of us. Except for what you did wrong, you did everything right, the rest was me. And you know what else?"

"What?" She manages a smile, encouraging him to go on.

"None of that shit matters anymore," he says, smiling back at her. "I've spent years making myself miserable, making _you_ miserable, and it's bullshit. I love you, I was happy for the first time in my fucking life when I was with you, and I'm pretty sure you were happy too-"

"I was." She stops him, her smile growing wider in response to his words. "I was happy, totally, completely, absolutely, like I'd never been before."

"So let's just do that again." He shrugs, like he's just suggested something simple, and maybe it is simple, maybe admitting what makes you happy is all it takes. "Let's just be fucking _happy_."

"Just like that?" she asks, giving up her attempt to contain her smile. "Easy as pie?"

"Yeah." He raises their joined hands and kisses her fingers one by one, slowly, softly, reminding her just what his mouth can do and building her anticipation for what will come next. "Easy as pie."


End file.
